Dr. Tan’s first sleep after graduating went on for a very long time. It was wonderfully sweet, and he had a beautiful dream. He became a glowing fish, one that could fly. He soared through clouds and over seas, roaming freely through the bustling world. He saw flowers in a riot of color and listened to rain in all its hues. He kissed the coral of Fiji’s Rainbow Reef and touched the tip of the Eiffel Tower with a fin.
So when he woke the next morning and found himself lying in his own bed, transformed from a spectacular, miraculous flying fish back into an ordinary human male, he was terribly disappointed.
Then he noticed another naked human male lying beside him and nearly jumped out of his skin.
But… those familiar broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs. Wasn’t that his own husband?
!!! Tan Xiao remembered.
He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten home yesterday, or how he’d ended up in bed, but he remembered exchanging some incredibly stupid sweet talk while they tangled together. For some reason, he’d even cried several times. How humiliating.
Worse, drunkenness had exposed the ugly face of this capitalist’s youngest son. He had actually said to Zhang Xingchuan, that dedicated working-man CEO:
You’re so poor… so poor… poor… Wait, what?!
Zhang Xingchuan woke up. The moment he opened his eyes, he got a fright too. “What are you doing?”
Ashamed, Tan Xiao declared, “Great and glorious worker, I, a shameless parasite upon society, spoke outrageously. Please accept my apology.”
He knelt solemnly on the mattress and bowed deeply, knocking his forehead against Zhang’s thigh. His angle was off, and he nearly headbutted somewhere no head should ever strike.
“…” Zhang dodged quickly enough to escape disaster. “What exactly would you gain from breaking it? Such a vicious attack first thing in the morning!”
Tan Xiao saw that he was fine. Besides, Zhang had only just woken up. His hair was tousled, his eyes still hazy, and he wore an adorable look of innocent, vacant bewilderment that he never had while awake and working.
Dr. Tan abandoned his sham of a solemn apology, sprang onto Zhang, and wheedled and played around with him.
The two ordinary human males wound themselves together like a pair of fighting octopuses.
Tan Xiao sniffed around Zhang’s neck, convinced there was still a certain masculine scent about him that Tan Xiao himself hadn’t acquired.
Zhang felt as though a puppy were sniffing him. It tickled, but he had no objection. He patted the puppy’s bottom.
“I actually didn’t drink that much yesterday,” Tan Xiao said at last, lying against his shoulder. “It just really hit me that I was graduating, and I was a little sad. Wine really does get you drunk faster when you’re carrying sorrow. If I said anything that upset you, please forget it as soon as you can.”
Zhang suddenly used his strength to pin him against the pillow. Looming over him, he said threateningly, “Enough useless talk. Transfer me my money.”
Tan Xiao had forgotten that part. “What money?”
What self-respecting male escort, after working hard all night, would tolerate unpaid wages? He had to defend his rights immediately.
So Zhang began making things up. “You said you’d marry me. You were giving me both yourself and your money. Forgotten already?”
“Impossible.” Tan Xiao knew himself very well. “Even drunk, I wouldn’t make wild claims like that. I only say things I’ve actually thought.”
He had never considered describing his relationship with Zhang in the language of a bride marrying or a groom taking a spouse. Since he’d never thought it, naturally he couldn’t have said it.
But by that logic, he’d blurted out that Zhang was poor because, in ordinary life, he really did think so.
Oh, no, Tan Xiao thought. Quick. Say something to repair the damage.
He supposed he could casually say he was willing to marry Zhang. Most cishet people liked hearing that sort of thing. He could… humor his poor husband a little.
He hadn’t managed to get the words out yet.
“What?” Zhang had only been joking, but he affected disappointment. “So I get neither the man nor the money?”
Tan Xiao laughed and followed his lead. “That’s right. Unless you agree to marry into my family. Then both the man and the money will still be yours.”
“Deal,” Zhang said happily.
They even shook hands amicably there on the bed.
Before their hands had even parted, Party B grabbed Party A and kissed him forcefully, leaving Party A dizzy. They hadn’t even signed the contract, and the project was already roaring into motion.
After nine, if they carried on with the project, they’d starve, so they finally went out and found somewhere nearby for breakfast.
Tan Xiao’s luxury apartment was all show and no substance. It couldn’t even provide the bare necessities of life. The fridge contained nothing but an ancient piece of chicken breast, so frosted over that if you scraped away the ice, it could join the archaeological exhibits at Mawangdui.
They went into a random breakfast shop. Tan Xiao still looked every inch a student; in his logo-free T-shirt and jeans, he blended into the surroundings perfectly.
Zhang Xingchuan was another matter. His business shirt and trousers were expensive, and he himself looked expensive too. He brought over buns and congee for them both, realized he’d forgotten utensils, and stood up again to fetch two pairs of sterilized chopsticks.
He was handsome and considerate, but almost conspicuously attentive.
Two girls who looked like students at the next table glanced at this odd pairing several times.
After they left, Tan Xiao quietly reported the gossip he’d overheard. “They were saying you might be the commissioned teacher I booked. You look expensive. They guessed your hourly rate must be at least three hundred.”
The girls simply couldn’t understand why an expensive-looking grown man was in a bun shop where the average customer spent eighteen yuan, being so solicitous toward a plain university student.
Eventually their imaginations ran wild. They decided Zhang might be an elite-in-a-suit cosplayer Tan Xiao had commissioned, though they couldn’t identify the franchise. Perhaps he was Tan Xiao’s own original character.
“What does that mean?” Zhang took commission in its everyday sense. “Do I look like a lawyer?”
“…” Having already exposed his ugly capitalist side yesterday, Tan Xiao decided he might as well go all in. “You’re so out of touch.”
Zhang was genuinely puzzled and consulted his AI.
Unfortunately, the CEO’s AI had already been trained into an entrepreneurial personality. It informed him that a commissioned teacher should be an agent entrusted to handle commercial affairs on someone’s behalf.
The AI even considerately asked: Would you like help drafting a letter of authorization? Please describe the intended use.
“…”
Tan Xiao watched the conversation on Zhang’s screen.
Zhang replied to his AI: You’re so out of touch.
AI: Haha, you’ve got me there. I’m just a very old-fashioned…
Before it could finish, the equally old-fashioned CEO closed it. What a cursed AI.
Tan Xiao laughed so hard he nearly choked on his bun.
His husband really was poor and hopelessly uncool, but he was also sexy and funny. Dr. Tan’s satisfaction with the CEO had returned to a fully three-dimensional, comprehensive hundred-and-twenty-thousand percent.
While Tan Xiao had been busy graduating, he’d felt that Zhang treated him a little differently than before. He knew it inevitably had to do with the revelation of his identity. Psychological adjustments would take time, though, and he wasn’t in a rush.
Then a few days ago, he’d happened to discuss that affectionate dialect term with a classmate. He’d thought it was just a teasing nickname used by an older partner, but apparently it really carried other meanings. Ever since they’d started dating, every time Zhang called him kiddo, it must have been full of love.
Remembering that Zhang had stopped calling him that lately suddenly made him very sad.
He could accept that the drastic shift in wealth and social standing might leave Zhang temporarily uncomfortable. That was fine. They were both human. Money could be intimidating; Tan Xiao had experienced it himself.
But he couldn’t accept Zhang showing that change in the small details of daily life.
Why couldn’t he be called kiddo anymore? If his right to be kiddo could be taken away today, who knew what would be taken away next? Maybe one day he wouldn’t even be allowed to bury his face in Zhang’s chest. That wouldn’t do. He wanted to be kiddo.
After yesterday, Zhang had also realized he’d made mistakes in the details. For example, Tan Xiao disliked being treated as a client who needed servicing in bed. He should have understood sooner that the best way to make Tan Xiao enjoy himself was to enjoy himself first. They were a perfectly matched, heaven-sent pair. He didn’t need to hold back. Following his instincts would be enough.
The nickname was another example. He’d also noticed that Tan Xiao called him brother much less often, but he hadn’t realized it was an adorable form of retaliation.
Tan Xiao cared a great deal about details and needed emotional responses. He was also someone who spoke frankly about what he wanted. For him to hold this back until he got drunk meant he’d plainly been waiting for Zhang to notice on his own.
Zhang felt a little guilty for failing to understand right away.
Normally, Zhang also liked to strengthen a relationship by speaking openly.
But with circumstances changing so dramatically lately, he had developed certain things he was keeping to himself.
He could only work through the chain of feelings arising from his relative “poverty” on his own. He trusted that the exceptionally perceptive Tan Xiao would understand.
There was something else he hadn’t mentioned to Tan Xiao. And he had absolutely no intention of bringing it up.
More than twenty days ago, the day before Zhou Ruofei left Beijing, Zhou had arranged a meeting with Zhang.
Just as Zhang had predicted, Zhou looked down on him. The heir to a semiconductor foundry giant had deigned to meet him only to verify whether Zhang was as “pure-hearted” as Tan Xiao claimed. In other words, he was still worried Tan Xiao had been deceived.
“I don’t believe poor people can truly fall in love with people like us.” Zhou Ruofei had one good quality: he didn’t waste time circling around a subject. He opened with the heart of the matter.
He genuinely didn’t believe an ordinary person could ignore their limitless wealth and fall in love solely with the person.
Zhang basically agreed. Wealth itself could be part of someone’s appeal, and for many people it was an extremely important part.
After all, even when “poor student” Tan Xiao had fallen for him, Zhang wasn’t so conceited as to believe he’d attracted him entirely by the charm of one carbon-based life-form. Having some money had certainly helped.
“When I fell in love with him,” Zhang said, “I didn’t know he was a young master.”
“And you know now,” Zhou replied.
“I do. But I’ve already fallen for him. What can I do?”
They met at a teahouse near WenCheng, a place Zhang had chosen. He often discussed business there. The setting was pleasant and very private.
“I don’t like tea,” Zhou said.
“I can order you a coffee delivery.”
Zhou laughed twice. “Forget it. This place isn’t bad. But don’t bring Tan Xiao here. He never drinks tea.”
“How many years ago was that?” Zhang replied. “He likes it quite a lot now. Dancong, pu’er. He especially likes ripe pu’er and doesn’t care much for green tea.”
“Is that so? People’s tastes really do change.”
He sized Zhang up rather rudely. “I never thought he’d end up choosing someone like you… Well, you are good-looking. He’s been obsessed with good looks since childhood. When he picked flowers, he’d always take the prettiest. I teased him too far a few times, and afterward he told me he’d wanted to punch me, but forgave me because I had a nice face.”
“…”
Warning bells suddenly went off in Zhang’s head.
“Aren’t you in love with his sister?” Zhang asked. “When you tell me things like that, it’s hard not to think you’re actually in love with him.”
Zhou frowned. “I’m not gay.”
Zhang neither agreed nor disagreed. He merely smiled.
“What are you smiling at?” Zhou narrowed his eyes and looked at him challengingly. “You should be grateful I’m not gay. If I liked him, do you think you’d ever have had a chance?”
“He’s already mine,” Zhang replied coldly. “Don’t waste time on useless hypotheticals.”
After the meeting, Zhang went to Qing University. Tan Xiao was such a social butterfly that he could ask practically anyone in the School of Economics and Management where to find him.
It was cloudy that day, so the sun wasn’t especially harsh. Tan Xiao was playing tennis with classmates at the East Sports Ground.
Zhang spotted him and watched from a distance without disturbing anyone.
Tan Xiao played well. He was focused and happy throughout, smiling even when he missed a shot, shaking his head with amusement.
He was an optimistic player in every aspect of life. He wasn’t especially competitive; he enjoyed the experience more. He could afford to lose, never clinging fiercely to victory or defeat. If he failed, he simply started over.
Zhang was unlikely ever to have that sort of temperament. He’d never faced an obstacle he couldn’t overcome, because he was cautious and planned meticulously. But at the root of it, his planning was so thorough precisely because he couldn’t bear losing.
Falling in love with Tan Xiao had originally been one unexpected departure from the pattern of his life. Then Tan Xiao had suddenly turned into a Doria heir, and the relationship had become a full-blown adventure.
If Zhang followed his usual approach, the most sensible thing now would be risk avoidance. He should leave Tan Xiao. He couldn’t carry the crushing weight of the fortune behind him, and Tan Xiao’s future might end up constrained by Zhang.
A little earlier in the teahouse…
Zhou Ruofei greatly disliked Zhang. Zhang wasn’t particularly fond of Zhou either.
He hadn’t shown it, but for one moment he had panicked terribly. He regretted asking that question. What if Zhou really did harbor feelings for Tan Xiao and had simply been waiting for someone else to break through that unspoken barrier?
Fortunately, although Zhou truly cared about Tan Xiao, it was only as a younger brother. He had no other intentions.
The two men had endured their distaste for each other and conversed purely for Tan Xiao’s sake. Each believed he owed Tan Xiao that much respect.
Zhou was helpless in the face of Tan Xiao’s hopelessly love-struck behavior. Reluctantly drinking the tea Zhang offered, he reluctantly told him more about Tan Xiao.
He’d watched him grow from a silent, intensely guarded child into a sharp-tongued teenager.
In adolescence, Tan Xiao had freely mocked Zhou’s friends to his face.
He’d say some of those rich young people had inherited the comprador glory of their ancestors a century earlier. Some were purebred larvae spawned by the great parasites who had plundered overseas in modern times, somehow cultivated into human form. Others were new money whose families had grown rich through honest labor, except that apparently getting rich through labor had become so shameful in China that their entire families had taken their fortunes across the ocean to escape discrimination by the indolent Chinese, vowing never to return.
Tan Xiao was gentle and friendly when speaking Chinese or English. But when he wanted to roast someone, he’d switch to German, unleash a flood of cutting sarcasm, and sprinkle it with profanity.
To some extent, he really didn’t treasure the German language, even though he had learned it remarkably quickly, as if he had some innate genetic gift for it. Perhaps he disliked having that gift.
And it wasn’t only the other rich kids he criticized. He’d often fire off wild, indiscriminate broadsides, especially at his own family. Was there really any need to explain how those old imperial seafaring aristocrats had made their fortunes? If words were bullets, every named head of the Doria family would have been shot full of holes.
Even Zhou wasn’t spared. His family ran semiconductor foundries. Though Zhou himself had still been an unproductive student then, he couldn’t escape Tan Xiao’s attacks.
“He called me the cyber foreman of a sweatshop,” Zhou said, bursting into laughter at his own recollection.
Zhang smiled too.
Tan Xiao had occasionally let his sharp tongue show in everyday life. It turned out he’d simply grown up and matured, learning to restrain the more vicious parts of it.
Besides, he was no longer surrounded by people who deserved that level of abuse.
No wonder he loved China so much, and Qing University’s ivory tower most of all.
“He’s low on the Doria family’s list of heirs,” Zhou said. “Those old white men never liked the bloodline of Tan Minhong’s branch. At least that Manchu noblewoman among their ancestors, from more than a century ago, had belonged to the legitimate Eight Banners nobility. That wasn’t a pedigree to be ashamed of. But his mother came from no family worth bragging about, and Tan Xiao himself looks completely Chinese.”
Zhang nodded. He’d long suspected as much.
“But there’s something you might not know,” Zhou continued. “His sister is still the likeliest to take over in the next generation. The other branches just aren’t competent enough.”
“I know. He told me.”
“Did he? Then did he tell you that when his sister officially takes power, she intends to make him the number-one heir of the following generation?”
How could Zhang possibly know that? Tan Xiao himself probably didn’t know.
…
On the tennis court, Tan Xiao hit a beautiful forehand return. His opponent exclaimed in admiration as the ball landed right on the line and scored.
Zhang was becoming engrossed in watching him.
Delighted by the point, Tan Xiao leaped off the ground. His tennis shorts fluttered, exposing the firm middle of his thighs; when he landed, the fabric fell back into place. He gave his racket a quick practice swing, retreated a few steps, and made a split-step hop to prepare for the next attack.
Zhang didn’t want to miss a single detail. He took Tan Xiao in from hair to toes again and again. Adorable and light on his feet, sexy and full of sunshine, there wasn’t a single imperfect thing about him.
All sorts of thoughts churned through Zhang’s mind: tragic possibilities, happy memories, reckless determination, surging desire.
What risk could possibly be worth letting go of a wife this perfect? Did such a risk even exist in the world?
That evening, he pretended he’d only just arrived at the university and casually went over to the tennis court to take Tan Xiao home.
Tan Xiao had just finished playing and was packing up, ready to shower and change. He was delighted by Zhang’s sudden appearance and introduced him to his tennis partner. As it happened, the other student was a younger alumnus from Zhang’s own computer science department.
Zhang had now completely forgotten the younger man’s looks, surname, year of study, and whatever pleasantries they’d exchanged. All he remembered was wanting to take Tan Xiao away immediately, while he was still in his tennis clothes.
They drove home and entered the garage. Once the rolling door was lowered, Zhang and Tan Xiao had sex right there in the car.
At first Tan Xiao felt that something was a little strange, but he loved Zhang deeply and didn’t wish to refuse him in that part of their relationship. Fortunately, the unusual setting unexpectedly awakened a hidden pleasure in him.
Zhang immersed himself in the desire Tan Xiao stirred in him. He was certain he was madly in love with every part of Tan Xiao.
He couldn’t be sure what future awaited them.
But right then, one thing was perfectly clear: if he chose to separate from Tan Xiao, Zhang Xingchuan himself would be finished.
He’d already found the best, most perfectly compatible person for him. If he could still let him go because of some risk assessment, he’d be so fragile a man that he wouldn’t deserve to speak of love for the rest of his life.